Strange Bedfellows
by Merci
Summary: Charles wakes up with a hangover, a gap in his memory, and Knubbler curled up beside him. He tries to go about his day as normal, but he can't shake the errant question of what happened between them the previous night, and if it bears repeating. Charles/Knubbler


**Title:** Strange Bedfellows  
><strong>Previous:<strong> this story is an unofficial sequel, making references, to DethMelons. Reading this story is not required, but recommended for those with soft spots for crack.  
><strong>Author:<strong> Merci  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Knubbler/Charles  
><strong>Source:<strong> Metalocalypse  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Charles wakes up with a hangover, a gap in his memory, and Knubbler curled up beside him. He tries to go about his day as normal, but he can't shake the errant question of what happened between them the previous night, and if it bears repeating.

**Warnings:** Slash (male/male relationships), references to a previous story with a ridiculous porn plot.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I am making no profit from this fanfiction. I do not own Charles, Knubbler, Nathan, Pickles, Murderface, any of the klokateers, or Metalocalypse.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> This was originally conceived to fulfill a Christmas fic request from harmonde, but for some reason my brain kept pushing Charles/Knubbler rather than the requested Charles/Nathan. The request for coconuts stuck, though, and I apologize profusely for the bluntly-inserted Monty Python references. (If this does not satisfy, my dear, let's talk about it a bit more because I really want to make you chuckle, but Nathan/Charles just isn't coming to me...)

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><p><strong>Strange Bedfellows - The Morning After<strong>

After a late-night drinking session – specifically designed to erase all memories of something Dethklok had done – Charles Ofdensen felt fine and oblivious. Sure, there was a hangover and unanswered questions about Dick Knubbler's presence in his bed, but otherwise fine. He knew there was a reason he'd drink so much, and a note from himself stuck to the bathroom mirror confirmed it.

_Charles, if you don't remember what the boys got up to last night: good. I've sent word for the klokateers clean up the mess in the common room. Don't ask questions. Don't leave your rooms. Knubbler spent the night. – Charles_

The Dethklok manager cast a sideways glance out to his bedroom where the Dethklok producer was sleeping soundly in his bed. He… didn't know _why_ Knubbler would be there, but Charles decided to just go with it. A quick call to klokateer maintenance to "clean up" whatever the mess was, and he found himself wondering how he should deal with Knubbler.

He didn't find the producer particularly attractive, though, he did appreciate how he worked with Dethklok; making his job easier. Charles sat in the armchair by the window and watched the man sleeping in his bed. "Knubbler, I, ah..." he said lowly, his voice sounding nasal and gravelly to his ears. "I don't know how you got here, but I must have had a good reason to invite you." He tilted his head, watching the other man continue to sleep, his features slack in relaxation. It was only nine o'clock, but for Charles, his internal clock wouldn't let him sleep any longer. He doubted Knubbler was a morning person, and so he let him sleep while he went about his business.

By noon Charles was going a little stir-crazy. He had spoken with the klokateers about cleaning up, and they all seemed surprised, almost envious, of his obliviousness to what had happened the night before. They informed him that it would take some time to get cleaned up, adding in a suggestion that he not go near the common room until they gave him the all-clear. His office was safe and so the Dethklok manager spent the remainder of his morning nursing his hangover and trying to get some work done.

Knubbler burst into his office sometime in the early afternoon. He didn't appear to be suffering a hangover like the one that continued to throb across Charles' temples. He was awake and full of energy and lots of questions.

Charles rose to meet him, getting a good look at the pajamas he wore. They were a couple sizes too big – which would make sense, since they were _Charles'_ pajamas.

"Do you…? How did I end up in your bed?!" He held up the pajama top to show the monogram on the breast pocket: C.O. "Why am I wearing your… clothes?"

"I don't remember," Charles said, his mind racing for answers. Knubbler wasn't really his type, but then again, he _did_ appreciate their occasionally sane conversations. At least Knubbler didn't assume a lamp party was happening whenever one broke. For all he knew they _did_fool around. He wondered if the lanky producer found him attractive… or if he was giving their possible fornication a second thought.

Well, he was obviously curious about his clothes. "I don't remember what happened last night, or how, ah, you wound up in my night clothes. Were you clothes in my room at all?" He hadn't looked at the foot of his bed, but he didn't add the possibility they were crumpled on the floor somewhere. "I can call to housekeeping to see if they know anything about it." He lifted the phone receiver, his fingers stopping before they could dial. "Oh, yes, they're busy cleaning up after whatever the boys got into last night. I think that's why we, ah, spent the night together." The moment the words left his mouth he felt a surge of heat wash over his face. "That is, we escaped whatever they were up to last night and this morning I found a note from myself warning me to avoid the common room, and that you'd spent the night, so I've been trying to avoid that room…" Charles stopped himself as he realized he was rambling.

Knubbler had a curious grin on his face that left the manager feeling even more uneasy. "Do, ah, you remember anything about last night?" What if the producer had seen him do something foolish?

"I never remember anything after a night of tripping balls," Knubbler rubbed his nose and seemed to wink at him.

"Balls… is that… drug reference? Is that a drug reference?" Charles shook his head to erase the perverted mental image that broke into his mind's eye.

"I don't even care if we fucked like horny teenagers," Knubbler ignored him as he came around Charles' desk and leaned over the CFO. The wooden chair creaked as Charles instinctively drew back, but Knubbler didn't give him an inch and he breathed hotly over Charles' face. "I just want to know what happened to my suit. Do you know how hard it is to find a plum Nehru jacket, let alone one in my size?" His electric eyes were emotionless and all-consuming as Charles stared blankly into the gaping green void of light and lenses.

Charles' fingers dug into the wooden armrests of his chair. His suit suddenly felt hot and his tongue was dry. He licked his lips, wishing he knew what the hell he'd done with his damn clothes. "I'm sorry, Knubbler, I-?!" His voice caught in his throat, swallowed by the thin, warm lips that pressed into his. His mind reeled, but his body responded favourably. It had been a long time since… well, he could remember having such an intimate interaction, and Knubbler knew what he was doing.

He put up a token resistance, a muffled objection reverberating in his throat as he took hold of Dick's shoulders and tried to gain control of the situation. He might have succeeded if not for the persuasive tongue that swiped across his lips. Dick could sweet-talk most of his clients and it was becoming apparent to Charles that his tongue was skilled at many more things.

Charles finally began to relax, his fingers merely holding Dick close, rather than pushing him away. It took a few more coaxing licks before Charles loosened his jaw to let the laky producer in.

It felt so right. He needed it and he found himself pushing back, licking out and playfully grazing over Knubbler's tongue. He was the one to deepen the kiss, pushing even further until he heard the tremor of sound in the producer's throat. They broke apart suddenly, panting, their burning eyes fixed only on each other.

Charles licked his lips and quirked his eyebrow, an invitation to his bedroom on his lips, but he never got to breathe the question.

The door to his office burst open, slamming hard against the wall as Nathan Explosion charged into the office, holding up a large, hairy coconut. "I need a drill!" he barked.

Knubbler and Charles slowly released each other, watching Nathan and the coconut for any signs that he could figure out what they'd been doing.

They needn't have worried.

Nathan growled and thrust the tree nut at them as if Charles could solve his mysterious problem. "I tried smacking it against a rock, or hard stuff… y'know, something to make a hole, but they just keep breaking in two! I need to drill a hole in it!"

Charles narrowed his eyes. The request sounded familiar and the warning bells went off in his mind as it dawned on him _why_ he'd drunk so much the night before. "Oh, God… Nathan, I don't have a drill."

The boys' foray into making porn with watermelons was all coming back in vivid colour and horrific detail. "Go ask a klokateer to get one for you. I'm, ah, in a very important meeting." He shifted uncomfortably, grateful for the length of his suit jacket and the thickness of his slacks.

Knubbler wasn't so lucky and he positioned himself awkwardly to hide the boner that tented the front of Charles' pajama bottoms.

Nathan just stood there for a long moment, looking between them. It was a familiar scene where he was trying to figure out what Charles meant and if it really was more important than _his_ problem.

Behind Nathan, in the hallway, Charles observed the other members of Dethklok roaming about. Pickles skipped by and Murderface followed behind clapping two empty coconut halves together to make a clip-clop sound. They did this for a few passes while Nathan struggled to think. Finally the front man cocked his head to the side and re-doubled his efforts to push the coconut at Charles. "But the klokateers won't do it for me. They're busy cleaning up our mess from last night. Besides, I'm sick of those dildos pretending to ride horses with the coconut halves! We need to start filming our sequel porno!"

Charles shoulders sagged. "Nathan, are you thinking of…?" he couldn't even finish the question. His efforts to forget were wasted as memories of the night before swarmed his mind. He'd seen the boys in some compromising positions before… he just never expected to catch them making porn with fruit. He looked again to Knubbler, but the lanky producer was already side-stepping the unpleasant conversation and making his escape.

Knubbler gave Charles a little shrug and an inviting smile. "I'll let you two sort this out. We can finish our meeting later." If he could have winked, Charles suspected the promise would have been followed by one. Instead, Knubbler's electric eyes wavered and rolled a bit funnily before he slipped out, pulling at the legs of Charles' pyjama bottoms to keep from tripping.

The manager watched him go before turning to Nathan once more. He reluctantly, hesitatingly reached out to take the coconut and thought of an alternative to coconuts the boys could film porn with.

Nathan scowled menacingly as he did, while Pickles, in his drunken, slurring, accented tenor, demanded to know the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow. Somewhere in the background, Murderface bellowed that he didn't know. And beyond that, the distinct sounds of Toki and Skwisgaar having a puking contest. Charles reached for his phone, resigned to order a drill from maintenance, but his mind was far away in the other room, wishing he could climb back into bed with some _sane_ company.

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><p><strong>Note:<strong> There is a second chapter to this story, but it is adult and not hosted here. If you are old enough and interested enough in some more adult/explicit stories, please visit my profile to get links to where my stories are hosted.


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